Every Day I'm Shufflin'
by demuredemeanor
Summary: Drabbles and ficlets born from that glorious little tool provided by iTunes: shuffle. These are mainly tools in my attempts at procrastination. Each vary.
1. Give A Little Love

**Give a little love – Mostar Driving Club  
><strong>_Lady Luck has found you, nothing can go wrong._

Katherine Beckett wouldn't consider herself a lucky individual if asked. Sure, there are worse things that could have happened during her life – there is always something worse.

Her life has been no picnic in the park. The picnic so ruined and torn it is indistinguishable from its drag through the mud, its fling through the dirt and roll down a hill, dropped off the cliff at the bottom, left to sink down into the ocean. If only it were just ants crawling in the food and not an onslaught of events, one after the other. But it all seems redundant in this moment.

In this moment, lying beside his sleeping form, her fingers are tracing over the arm he's got draped across his stomach, down to his fingers then back up to his shoulder, up his neck and along the line of his jaw. It blows her away that this man is beside her, the sheets of her bed twisted around his limbs, twisted around hers, covering their naked forms as they both lie settled deep in the mattress of her bed, the light of the early morning settling around them, opening her up to a brand new day, a new life filled with unspoken promises of opportunities.

Then just as her trail leads her back to his fingers, darting over them and between them he slips his fingers between hers, catching them in his own. Then he's shifting beside her, turning to wrap his arms around her, kissing the skin of her shoulder as he drags her closer, the only part of her he can reach with his mouth as she strains against him, not quite willing to be clenched against his chest.

"Relax," he says softly, kissing her again, darting his tongue out. When she stops shifting against him, he slides his lips up her neck, finding her pulse and stroking it with his tongue. "I can hear you thinking," he mutters, finally sliding his lips up to meet her own as he speaks against her mouth, unwilling to part with for the sake of clarity, urging her to understand as he teases her lips with his tongue.

"It's fine Castle. I'm fine," she assures, shifting against him so she has the upper hand, leaning over him, forcing him onto his back so she can meet the eagerness of his tongue with her own. She really is fine. She almost considers herself lucky, just for this moment.


	2. Pretty Vegas

**Pretty Vegas - INXS**  
><em>If you think you want it, just come out and say it.<em>

…

They've been yelling, standing toe to toe in his office, framed by the window, his desk and the whiteboard glowing softly in the background, the display dimmed they've been at this so long.

Neither even knows what this is about anymore.

It sure as hell isn't about the secrets they've each kept, not at all.

Those had caused eyes to widen and larynxes to rise and fall, but it didn't hurt like it should have.

What hurts is that standing in this room, just building theory while his loft lies empty save for their rage, their fury seeping into the other rooms could lead to the ends of their lives. That's why they're fighting, they both know it.

"I can't let you do this." Finally she steels herself against the rage flooding through her as he makes suggestions about where to look and what to dig up, which stones to turn over. His theories are actually good, would lead to the answers she so desperately needs, the answers they both need.

"You're not doing it alone." He steps forward, threatening, his figure looming over her, causing her to step back. But he's right there again.

"Then neither of us do it. For now we put it to rest again." She swallows. She wants to squirm under his intense gaze, under the shadow his body is casting over her, the lamp at his back. She feels tiny, but she understands that wasn't his intention. He just wanted her to understand, to force her to a realisation. And he had, he caught her as she shivered, slid his arms around her and crushed her against him, kissed the side of her head, uttering words incoherently against her skin.

It would be okay, they'll both stay alive, protected in each other's warmth. At least until something appeared they couldn't ignore, some piece of irrefutable evidence that would end this horrid game.


	3. One

**One – Tina Dico  
><strong>_And when it feels like forever since you've seen the face of someone who loves you._

.

He catches sight of a shoulder before he even sees the full length of her body shrouded by her long coat. He'd recognise her anywhere, she is like some kind of beacon guiding him to her. He catches his first glimpse of her face just as she's hauling her suitcase from the baggage carousel, setting it on the ground at her feet, scanning the crowd for him as she does. She looks straight at him, maybe he has a beacon only she can detect too.

Then he's moving forwards, hurrying towards her, almost jogging. Her smile widens after he turns back, apologising to a woman he's just jostled on his way to her. it was barely coherent, he'd heard the woman's mumbled expletives, it was the only reason he'd even bothered to attempt it. He doesn't care, two weeks without her was too long. He was never touring for his books again, not without her at least.

He doesn't bother to greet her when he reaches her, wrapping his arms tightly around her shoulders, her arms hooked up, catching his shoulders from behind to press him against her as closely as he's holding her to him.

He slides his hands down her sides, urging her to step back now they've had their moment. He needs to see her face, again, catch the smile which he can feel seeping from every pore of her body and check she made it cross country in one piece.


	4. Blasphemy

**Robbie Williams – Blasphemy  
><strong>_Bite your tongue, the torrid weapon_

.

"Don't." She bit the word out, cut the stale air of the room with it, razor sharp like a knife. The way her shoulders slumped as she dropped her eyes from his, turning her back to him and walking away, cut him just the same.

Fuck, he'd really done it this time. He really needed to learn to shut his mouth, bite his tongue, keep his thoughts to himself. The way she was standing, arms folded guarding her chest as she stared vacantly out the windows, examining the city below, spoke volumes. She was literally blocking him from accessing her, couldn't expose herself to him. He'd seen at her weakest, her most vulnerable. Hell they'd almost frozen to death together, she'd passed out from the hypothermia. But she still can't relax.

She still can't let him in.

He understands, really he does. And he has been so patient, to see her smile for a split second is worth every second of his waiting, his longing, his loneliness. No doubt in his mind.

He'd really thought it was time. It was, she'd said it herself, just now, in passing.

But still, she couldn't bring herself to open herself to it once he'd touched her chin and mumbled the words against her skin.

He stands beside her, sticking his hands deep in his pockets, saying nothing, examining the city too, waiting for her to speak. He can just see her out of the corner of his eye. She's watching him, studying really. He just lets her. She just needs a minute.

"I can't say it," she says softly, turns back to the city as he turns to look at her.

"I didn't ask you to. You just need to know it's true. I love you and it's not going to change."

He watches her swallow, sneak a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. Then a smile creeps across her face, just peeking out the corner of mouth. The relief floods him and he takes the smile as a surrender, permission for him to wrap his arms around her and press his face into her hair, kissing it once.

"You're amazing." she mutters, finally uncrossing her arms and winding them around his neck.

It is as good as a reciprocation as any other.


	5. Everybody

**Everybody – Ingrid Michaelson  
><strong>_Just let the love, love, love begin_

.

She's laughing, smiling, and enjoying herself.

It's unusual, especially after the week they've just had.

Of course, he's laughing with her, smiling with her, catching her attention and it just makes her smile wider. He moves the hair which has fallen across her eyes, shielding her from him as she shifted in her giggles. He can't stop himself. When she is this carefree, he needs to capture every second of it, burn it onto his retinas, never forgetting it. He won't have her hair shrouding it, throwing a blanket over her face.

She jerks slightly at his touch, still completely absorbed in the conversation surrounding them, some joke Ryan or Esposito have shared with the group, or maybe it was a snide comment from Lanie. He doesn't know which and he doesn't care.

She flicks her eyes at him, quips a brow in silent question.

He knows exactly what she's asking. No one else will understand.

He raises the corner of his mouth and flicks his eyes to the others for a second, relieved to find them all still deep in conversation, oblivious to their interactions. It surprises him, normally they are watching them like hawks, especially Lanie – but apparently not tonight.

His response causes her face to soften. Then she shifts her hands, stops nursing her glass and shoves her hands beneath the table and gives a slight shiver at her shoulders, just in case, making like she's shoving her hands beneath her thighs in the cool of the bar. But she's not.

She doesn't shove them under her legs like he expected, she wraps a hand around his knee and gives it a gentle squeeze. He isn't sure what she's implying because she's turned her attention back to the rest of the table, rejoined the laughter, throwing in a comment.

When they had gained the have the ability to have a complete conversation by simply reading the expressions on each other's face he isn't sure. But he's just realised how valuable this skill may prove to be.

Then she's smiling again and it makes him wish they were alone so he could pull her closer, test the boundaries they've only recently established, cross lines and build bridges. But they can't – at least not under the prying eyes of the rest of the team.


	6. Wonderful Night

**Wonderful Night – Fatboyslim**  
><em>You're body's like a narcotic, the thought is autoerotic<em>

.

He closes the hatch concealing the passage way down to his office then spins to search for them, his eyes roaving over the booth they'd just been occupying, then to the bar, excepting them to be awaiting refills.

Then he spots the flash of blue, the movement of her hair confirms it. He begins to weave through the movement of people, he wonders where all the people have come from. How long was he in the office? Not only has he now lost his partner and friends to the dance floor, but he also has to force his way through a small crush of people.

Then he's popped out the other side, on the edge of the dance floor. He can't keep his eyes off her, but his attention is caught by the pathetic attempts emitting from Esposito and Ryan as they have some form of dance off, a small circle forming around them and he loses sight of her. The long legs gone, her slim waist lost behind some heavy framed individual, he can't even spot a flash of blue, no sign of her movements from the crowd.

Then she's sliding her hands down his arm, her grip firm on his skin and she attempts to pull him back towards the others, not bothering to stop her movements in time to the music, the red flush across a nice contrast to her usual pale colour. But he doesn't follow, just catches her hip in his free hand, laces his fingers through hers, tugging her close. She doesn't resist, just regards him cautiously as he slides his hand further around her body, urging her to move her body in time with his.

Then he catches the eye of a man behind them eyeing her off and he spins them both so the man has little choice to stare at his own backside instead of hers. When he chuckles at the thought, she leans back a little, still curious.

"I never knew you could dance, Castle," she teases softly, her breath at his ear, an arm lopped casually around his neck, pulling herself closer.

He swallows. He can't really, not like this at least. He's just made a point of matching his rhythm to her own and hoping she didn't notice. She apparently hasn't.

"One of my many hidden talents," he says softly as he presses his cheek against hers. then she's laughing again, dropping his hand and sliding her hand up to lop it around his neck too.

Now it's his turn to regard her, silently questioning.

Her only response is to shrug a little. Their rhythm in no way matches the music anymore, they're basically just swaying. But he couldn't care less. He is completely mesmerised by everything about her.


	7. Right as Rain

**Right as Rain - Adele**  
><em>There ain't no room in my bed as far as I'm concerned so wipe that dirty smile off, we.<em>

.

"Goodnight Castle," she says slowly again, her hands pressing his into his chest, holding him at arms length as he leans forward attempting to kiss her goodbye, again.

She'd initiated it the first time, let him do it the second. The third had been a mutual thing. The fourth she doesn't even know and when it got to the eighth she realised she really had to get him out into the hallway, or close the door on him or something, neither of them will stop. Tonight isn't the night, not for that. They have all weekend for that, it's been arranged, kind of, mainly an unspoken agreement for her to stay. If it wasn't, if she's taken a liberty she knows he won't mind in the slightest. He's insisted on cooking dinner at the loft on Saturday night while his mother and his daughter are conveniently away. She isn't sure whether or not he arranged it deliberately or if it is just a happy coincidence. Either way she'll take the opportunity.

"Goodnight Kate," he mutters, finally saying the words and kissing her forehead, nose buried in the hair a second too long, taking in the smell she assumes.

She squeezes his fingers before she unwraps them from his own. "I'll see you tomorrow," she assures quietly, certain they'll catch another case, certain she'll catch the subway in and give herself an excuse to accept his offer for another lift home.

He steps forward again, crowding her a little, hand poised, about to run down her forearm when she raises a brow, a silent challenge. "Okay, okay I'm going." He kisses her check, and he does.


	8. Closer Than Close

**Closer Than Close – BeeGees**  
><em>At the point of ecstasy, I write a symphony, of poetry in motion<em>

.

He lets his limp body weigh her down, just for a minute before he'll roll off her to curl her into his side. Let himself breath in the scent of her, sweaty and smelling like him, like them. everything in the room smells like them, it will linger in here for weeks, torturing him every moment he's in his bed alone. He'll just have to prevent that happening, keep her with him.

She doesn't let him roll away, she follows him, curling herself onto his chest and lazily kissing a path from his shoulder to his ear then back along his jawline finding his mouth along the way, taking pause before she heads for the other ear then onto the other shoulder. It seems it won't take much convincing for her to return. He hasn't even made a movement and she's tormenting him with her tongue, slowly, lazily, like she's got all night.

The thought makes him gasp, so do her teeth at a tendon in his neck. He has to fight to control his breathing as she lies against him, their joined form a tangle of naked limbs.

She drags his earlobe between her teeth, possibly in response to his gasp. Her raggard breath is in his ear and he can't stand the torture anymore.

He grabs her hips and arches against her, showing her what she's doing to him.

Her laugh rumbles low in his ear and she kisses his mouth, teasing him with her tongue, twirling around his own in a coordinated dance. They shouldn't know this dance so well, there hasn't been a crash of teeth or a tangle of their tongues as they fought for control. For once there has been no argument about who has the upper hand, it is instinct, it is unspoken. They both have it.

He'd tried to stay in control last time, the first time, but she'd taken charge, silently demanded, insisted with her tongue and moved her body so he had no control, so he was at her whim. He'd let her take control, especially at the breathy moans she made against his neck. Listening to her use him as her own tool was enough, he just had to keep her against him, keep himself together just long enough for her to quiver.

But now it's his chance for control as he flips her over, breaking her contact with a pop and begins his own assault of her body, of her senses. He can use his own mouth to torture her. She has no idea about the game she's started.


	9. Funky Tonight

**Funky Tonight – John Butler Trio**  
><em>And if there's something wrong yes you know I'm gunna try and make it right.<em>

Note: This one has as much to do with the rhythm and staccato of the song. It's on youtube if you're interested.

.

She dances her thumb across the pad of his foot. Her soft skin meeting the rough callus of his, worn by the wear and tear. She smiles as his ankle twitches slightly, tickled by the movement, his sleep disturbed but not broken.

She runs the tips of her fingers over the top of his foot, grazing the coarse hair in time with the rhythm of her thumb. He twitches again in response. He doesn't move though, just shifts deeper into the lounge cushions, deeper into her hand, unknowing.

"You know you'll wake him right?" Alexis' voice as it carries through the room.

Kate shifts her focus to the teen she didn't hear approach and gives a shrug, continuing her movements as she responds. "I know." She does. Soon there will be a swat of a hand or a huff of disgust as he rolls away from her, liable to wind up on the floor, rudely awakened. But she continues the movements regardless, even if she doesn't catch him she can soften his fall, he's close enough that she can grab his shoulder just in time.

At her voice, or maybe her touch, skirting the gap between his toes he arches his toes, spreading them wide, giving her an easy space to slide her fingers between. Then he curls them around back around her finger, an oddly firm grip.

"How long's he been asleep?" Alexis asks perching on the arm of the couch beside her father's girlfriend, gazing down at his sleeping form beside her.

"Half an hour," Kate answers quietly as he lifts his head, curious, but he doesn't open his eyes, just shifts so he's got a hand under his head.

"Can I wake him up?" Alexis asks softly, hesitant.

"If you wake him up you have to take him to pee," she responds quietly as she glances from the soft sleeping form beside her to Alexis.

"It's worth it," Alexis responds quickly, already moving from the couch to lean over the puppy, swiping her fingers over his face, touching his whiskers and disturbing his sleep. Then he's lifting his head, opening his eyes to seek out the disturbance. "Hey there, little man," she cooes as his eyes find hers.

Kate watches as Alexis eases the puppy off the couch, shifting him into her arms so he can rest his head against her shoulder.

"Hey sleepy-head," she mutters herself as Alexis sits down beside her. "Looks like you won't have to take him after all." She touches his ear as it drapes off Alexis' shoulder. "Someone's not ready to wake-up. You're stuck as a puppy pillow for now," she says softly, giving Alexis a knowing smile. She's fallen victim to that more than once.

"I'm good," she says as she settles into the couch.


	10. Human Nature

**Human Nature – Michael Jackson**  
><em>See that girl? She knows I'm watching. She likes the way I stare.<em>

.

She presses her wine glass to her lips, taking pause as she settles her eyes firmly onto her foot, curling her toes and studying them with avid interest. Her interest in her feet has to seem as high as his own in her. Otherwise he'll catch on. She won't let him know he's got to her. She won't show him she knows he's staring at her, gawking really. But it's not a creepy gaze, this time.

His eyes are boring into her as he studies every nuance of her face, every line, every freckle, every blemish. She should feel uncomfortable, but she doesn't. Sure she teases him about it at the precinct, but here in his loft, curled up on his couch, on opposite ends of the couch, her wine glass cradled in her palm she lets him have this one. Just for a moment. The strongest contributing factor has to be the deep red liquid she's now tipping into her mouth, taking much too large a gulp to be considered dainty as she drains the crystal glass. Her disregard for his gaze may in part due to this being her fourth glass. She's not drunk or even tipsy, but the warmth which has settled over her makes it okay. She knows he can see the flush it's given her cheeks.

She cradles the empty glass and he leans forward, she doesn't have to look up to realise he's reaching for the bottle he set on the table when they sat down. Her only indication of his movements is the rustle of his dress shirt and the shift in the couch cushions. He's beside her now, not too close. She finally meets his gaze, nods slowly at the proffered bottle and extends her glass to meet it, finding it already poised ready to pour. He fills her glass and tops up his own almost-empty glass.

She hears him set the now empty bottle on the table, the rustle of his shirt giving away his movement beforehand. He doesn't shift further down the couch again but maintains the proximity, his knee just touching hers but his head and shoulders angled diagonally across the cushion. He's close but he's giving her space. He always knows the right thing to do, the right thing to say.

She smiles at him quickly in thanks then takes a sip of the wine. She'll savour this one, after this she'll have to leave. They're not opening another bottle. They do have to work tomorrow. She can't help the smile that plays on her lips, she presses the glass against it, a desperate attempt to conceal.

But he's caught it, obviously still watching. She knows he has. She hears his exhale as he laughs silently around the smile she's sure is playing across his own lips, crinkling the skin around his eyes. He's spent so long staring at her now, watching her for years, feigning that he needed the inspiration that she knows he never really required to begin with. Not after that first case. She realises she's spent as long studying him as he has her. But that's okay.

She lulls her head to the side, meeting his gaze.

"What's so funny, Castle?" she asks, a challenge to admit what they both know he's been doing.

"You keep smiling at your foot," he offers, arching a brow at her in challenge. She has noticed he's started doing that more, taking on her movements. It's slightly disturbing, but comforting all the same.

"Hmm," she offers with a shrug, turning more of her body to face him. Apparently he's challenging her too, caught onto the game she's been playing. But that's okay. She likes this particular game.


	11. Bad Day

**Bad Day – Daniel Powter**  
><em>You're faking the smile with the coffee to go<em>

.

He doesn't bother to offer words of comfort for what they've just seen, what they've had to work through. He just ensures he's as attentive and helpful as he can be, even if at times she is snapping at him. But as soon as he hands her another cup of coffee she smiles slightly at him, silent apology. He doesn't joke, doesn't do anything he normally does. This is not the case for that.

The neighbour had called in the scene, complaining a woman wouldn't stop screaming in the apartment next door, didn't answer the knocks at the door. She'd still been inconsolable as she clutched her murdered toddler to her chest as she hunched over the body of her husband, kneeling in the pool of their blood, clinging to them both as long as she could.

It's hard to say something that does justice to the fact his partner had knelt in the blood beside the woman, urged her to give her the toddler and then moved between husband and wife as Castle stepped forward, only at her silent instruction, a single glance in his direction was all he needed to usher the woman into a corner. He'd seen Kate over the top of the woman's head as he left her cling to him, he'd watched as she set the child down carefully, stripped off her jacket and passed it to Lanie without meeting her gaze. They'd had to get the wife and mother to do the same. As if she hadn't been through enough today, now she was human evidence was the crass comment his partner had made as they'd headed back to the precinct. He'd just agreed, choosing not to vocalise the fact she too had become evidence, just swallowed as he took in the scrubs that she'd been given after Lanie had glared at her and lead her into the bathroom.

She's in some spare clothes now, disappearing toward the lockers in the back. when she'd emerged five minutes later, re-dressed, her hair wet he'd been curious how she'd managed it so quickly. But then she'd spoken, asked what they had and he'd realised – she was focused on the case, he should be too. That's when the onslaught of coffee had begun.

Now it's late, too late for anything productive to eventuate so he sends Esposito and Ryan home with a nod, she's had her back to them all for the past hour just staring at the board so he figures he has the authority. Both of the guys just give him a knowing look, they'd been waiting for their out, the assurance that he'll get her to go home is unspoken.

He waits until the elevator will have them safely on the ground floor or the basement, wherever they've parked, however they're getting home doesn't matter as he leans off Esposito's desk, headed for her. She doesn't look at him as he settles down beside her, so he glances back at the board, scooting his bum right back on the blotter, not caring about the papers he's crumpling. He knows she needs another five minutes. She probably has a few theories she wants to toss around.

But then she shifts closer, leaning the whole weight of her body against his side, he slips his arm around her, rests his hand on her shoulder blade, not quite sure what exactly is happening but he knows she needs him, she needs this. So he gives it to her. Just like he gave her the coffee. Then when she's composed herself again he'll give her a ride home.


	12. One Week

Request from Imhereforthestory – You're constant reviews and encouragement have made this as easy as pie.

**One Week – Bare Naked Ladies  
><strong>_How can I help it if I think you're funny when you're mad? Trying hard not to smile though I feel bad._

.

It's been seven days since it all came to a head, crashed down around them and left them raw, chests heaving, throats dry, eyes wide at the realisation of what they'd just done. Seven days since they butted heads, barely concealing their jibes as they kept their voices low, making the words more searing than resounding shouts ever could be.

He doesn't even remember why she walked away, left his loft before his mother cooked the dinner she'd insisted upon – a thanks for saving his life, again. He'd gone into the study, slammed the door as she exited through the front, the sounds reverberating through the apartment simultaneously, some morbidly coordinated dance. That was their problem. They were so in sync that they knew what buttons to push.

He knew he'd pushed too hard when she'd started shaking from the anger she was trying to contain. Then she'd throw her arms up in disgust, shoved against his chest as she advanced on him, not backing down, continuing her verbal assault. He had quivered at her proximity, wanted to just crush her against his chest and forget this, neither of them even know what this is about. He knew that from the beginning. When she cocks her head to the side, he knows she's leaving. He does reach out to her as she pulls away but she just shakes her head at him. "Apologise to your mother for me," she said softly before she spun on her heel and made a beeline for the door. His mother hadn't spoken up, for once, and he was grateful. He had been too livid with her to make excuses for her, for himself.

.

It's been five days since he saw her again, braved going to her apartment to face her. Five days since he tried to make it right, in his own way.

She'd groaned as she answered the door, giving a grunt before she strode away from him and sat herself back down on the couch, curling back underneath that blanket and stared past him at the TV as he sat on her coffee table, touching her legs, trying to steal her attention. He'd failed miserably at his goal, so he had leant back and let a thought escape. He couldn't make it any worse could he?

"How do we fix this? What do you want me to do Kate?" He didn't like his own pleading tone. He didn't like that he has to be the only one to fix this, to step up and be the grown-up. But he would have, for her.

He didn't like the soft scoff she gave in response.

"I don't know Castle, how do we?" She didn't bother to look at him as he could only gape in response. The worst part about it was they'd been working together still, almost normal. He didn't know if he'd had anything left to say there, especially if she wasn't open to it. She must have needed more time, just like he'd feared she would and hoped she didn't.

"I'll go," he offered quietly. He'd risen from his place on the table, not bothering to look at her. That's when she'd finally glanced at him, taken in his hunched shoulder and stupor. Then she had been on her feet.

She stood in front of him again, chest heaving, eyes fearful, throat dry at the realisation that she couldn't let him leave, but didn't know that she wanted him to stay either. He understood, he felt the same and neither knew how to fix it.

He'd caught her as she let herself drop to the floor, catching her just a second too late as her knees hit the rug with a loud thud. He hunched over with her and let her cry, let her sobs fill the room. It didn't matter right then that he should have left her there, it didn't, it still doesn't. He could never walk away. He knows that now, knows that no matter how many times she told him to go he wouldn't.

They hadn't said anything after that. She'd just grown silent and he'd noticed the time. It was mutual agreement that time, but it still didn't make it hurt less when this time he was the one who walked out.

.

It's been three days since she turned up on his doorstep, quietly told him she wanted to apologise to his mother for the scene they'd forced her to bear witness to. Three days since he'd stood beside her and listened to his mother chastise them like the children they were being.

He'd followed her to the door, muttered a soft goodbye, that he'd see her tomorrow. He'd caught the look in her eye, hoped his was as apologising, matching what he saw there, the guilt and realisation more scathing than words ever would be. He wanted to apologise, but how do you say anything that is close to enough, a simple 'I'm sorry' would fall on deaf ears. He'd have to work it out, make it up to her. Just not this afternoon.

The look in her eyes stemmed from the fact he'd apologised to his mother, telling her he'd started it and Kate had just reacted to his stupid comment. He'd watched her stiffen beside him at his words, too subtle a response for his mother to notice, but Kate also hadn't moved her eyes from his mother as she watched the older woman to continue to speak as she paced dramatically around the living room, dancing with the furniture, using the objects as her props, tools in her guilt trip. Her words mixed with his own, but he knew Kate had heard every single word.

He'd only confessed to half of it, not even the right half of it.

Sure he'd made a comment, but then she'd made another, equally as jokingly serious as ever. But then he'd gone the extra mile and acted on impulse. The time impulse had started this. To that he wouldn't, couldn't, shouldn't admit. Not to either of them.

.

Yesterday he'd realised he had to fix this, right now, after a message from Esposito asking where he was, what other engagement did he have, he'd missed a 'doozie', as it had been so aptly termed. Yesterday he'd told his teammate he'd had a lunch meeting, lied to save them from the 'mum-and-dad' drama unfolding around him, around her, around them all.

He'd feigned a lunch meeting, joked he'd catch the next one. The fact that she hadn't called suggested he might not. So he'd gone over there, turned up on her doorstep late, taken in her pyjama bottoms and thick jumper, her hair knotted high on her head. Just in time, but he felt guilty to be keeping her from sleep. He shouldn't have.

She didn't stride away from him this time, he saw her fight it as she waved him inside, curled her arms around her chest, self-conscious for reasons that escaped him. She'd never been ashamed of her body before, her figure or her lack of make-up. Not even a lack of undergarments had stopped her before. But maybe they all just added to her real discomfort, make a handy disguise for the fact she'd been embarrassed by him turning up like that. She'd been embarrassed that he would have the gall, that he would even realised she'd excluded him. That she'd doubted he'd find out.

"I should have called," she said it so softly he barely heard it.

Damn right she should have. But he didn't say that, he wouldn't make this worse.

"Why didn't you?" He choked on the words, struggled to maintain a composure he was not feeling.

"I didn't know what to say," she confessed so softly it's barely audible over her breathing.

"You…" He stopped, started again. "We didn't have to say anything," he said softly, as he stepped close to her, refraining from touching her, but showing her he was there, all she had to do is step forwards too, meet him in the middle.

She didn't move. But she did flick her eyes up to meet his, a sign she just needed a little more time. So he suggested coffee, moved to serve himself, navigate her kitchen and offer her a cup of her own coffee. She'd smiled at the suggestion, despite herself. But it was something, a step forward he'd take, for now.

Tomorrow she'll be ready. She'd asked him, right as he left, after his tight smile of farewell, to come get her from the mechanics in the morning, her bike needed work. She needed a ride. They'd been the first words she'd said in almost a week that hadn't been about their stupid fight. She was promising to step forwards the next day. His smile wasn't tight as he nodded and left, listening as she locked the deadbolt behind him before he walked away. This time he was happy to go, it meant next time would be better.


	13. Smile

**Smile – Uncle Kracker  
><strong>_You make me smile like the sun, fall out of bed  
>Sing like a bird, dizzy in my head<br>Spin like a record, crazy on a Sunday night_

.

He sets the coffee down in front of her and avoids her gaze, settling deep into _his_ chair and pulling out his phone, already loading an app before she can toss out a casual thanks.

He's avoiding her eyes.

She licks her lips and brings the mug to her lips. She knows that it's thanks enough for him that she's here and drinking the coffee he's offered.

She swallows the hot liquid, letting it slide over his tongue. Just like his hot tongue had danced over hers moments before, stolen kisses in the storage room as she dragged out a file, some wild theory of his that is panning out. The adrenaline of 'forbidden' and 'work' struck each nerve, set them ablaze in a way he always does, but so much more.

She'd had to brace herself against a shelf when he pulled back and bent to gather the file she'd dropped in the moment.

She shivers as she touches a finger to her lips, unconscious of the fact she's smiling, open and unbridled, as she focuses back on her paperwork.

.

_You make me dance like a fool, forget how to breathe  
>Shine like gold, buzz like a bee<br>Just the thought of you can drive me wild  
>Oh, you make me smile<em>

He can't look at her. He has to play… He takes in the image on the screen for the first time. Rat on a scooter… Really?

He really is distracted.

He should at least pretend he's occupied with the game. He needs to get back to angering those birds. But then he sees her set down the mug, her shoulder to him, her face shrouded by hair.

His game is loading, he can steal a glance at her for a second, take in the sight of her, be completely distracted by the fact now he they can steal kisses and make promises of later.

Later he will be sure to tell her to stop being so obvious, several people have noticed her smile, one he wants to cover with his hands and peak through his fingers at, one just for him. It should not be shared at the precinct.

But then he sees Ryan point to him, out of the corner of his eye. You'd think for a detective he'd be a better gossip, more subtle.

But he's not.

Though Castle isn't shrouding his mood with mystery and a guise of professionalism, his or hers.

His smile is just as telling he knows. But looking at her, he doesn't care.


	14. Here's To Us

**Here's to Us – Halestorm  
><strong>_Here's to us_

.

"Just one more," Castle pleads.

She bites down on her lip. She's not drunk, not even tipsy, but she's got a buzz, a hum coursing through her body. She's free, calm, carefree and this late at night, after the few days they've had, running across the city chasing suspects and leads that don't make sense, don't fit together and complete the puzzle until… they do, she should not be having another.

But she's nodding agreeing. Because sitting here with him, squashed into the side of the booth, long after the others called it a night, with Ryan hurrying home to Jenny and Lanie and Esposito leaving suspiciously close together, is too good to pass up. When Lanie moved from beside her she didn't bother to move over, why would she?

She still can't shake the chill off her skin, the ice from her bones. She'd still be shivering if it weren't for the tumbler of scotch in her hands, the sharp burn filling her with a warmth, a fire like no other. Well that's not true. The prickle dancing across her skin each time his elbow brushes hers or their knees bump.

The waitress sets the fresh glasses on the table and he reaches across her as she leans back, knocking back the last mouthful of the last glass. She hands the woman the empty glass with a smile and the waitress tosses her a knowing look, raising an eyebrow. Then Kate realises why, as she settles back into her position she finds her shoulder in his armpit, shivers at the heat and only pulls back slightly, can still feel his thumb pressed into her shoulder.

He's got his glass poised between them, waiting for her, like he-

He wants to toast.

Oh.

She grabs the glass and raises it a little, pausing, keeping a distance as she forces it steady. Okay, maybe she's a little tipsy. But she's not drunk, she's a long way off.

"Here's to us," he whispers to her, leaning over her much further than necessary as he softly touches the tip of his glass to hers.

She shakes her head, chews her lip. Too easy. "Here's to love," she murmurs as she presses the glass to her mouth, muffling her words from his ears.

"All the times that we messed up."

She blinks, heavily. Right, tipsy. No self control, no sensor and apparently no volume control. But he doesn't seem to mind, he's tipped his head toward her, waiting for her to continue. "Here's to you," she offers quietly. This time it is quiet, she's conscious of that. She needs to thank him for… everything. But here, drinking in his bar, quoting words from a song, is not the way to do it, not the place to do it.

"Fill the glass."

Oh God, now he's singing. A dry timbre that makes her shiver. Why not, she can hold a tune. "Cause the last few days have gone too fast."

"So let's give them hell, wish everybody well." He joins her, smile so wide she doesn't regret it. She doesn't regret the hushed whispers as she continues the chorus with him, closes it off. "Here's to us."

She nods at him then flicks her eyes away, lifting her drink to her mouth, needing another gulp, some more Dutch courage, before she faces where he's going to take this conversation. She's sure it will be a compliment, a suggestion or innuendo. How could it not be? Mouths loose enough to sing are mouths loose enough for too-much sharing.

Among other things.

"We stuck-"

"Castle," she bites. "No more."

She watches his face drop as he leans in close. "What you don't like my singing?"

It's not that she doesn't. It's that the moments passed and the couple at the table in front of them have turned to look. She waves to the nosey pair and watches Castle realise, come out of his bubble, their bubble.

He bites his lip and turns his attention back to his glass, moment passed.

She leans against his side, finding another moment, creating it.


	15. Undiscovered

**Undiscovered – James Morrison  
><strong>_I'm not running, I'm not hiding._

.

It's taken so long for her to reach _this_ point.

It has.

She could count the days, but that's a stall tactic.

A waste of her time, so she knocks.

And he answers.

"Kate?" he greets her, "what's wrong? Why are you here?"

Well he could have at least said hello before he asked her a barrage of questions.

"Hey," she chirps, smiling despite the desperate want, need, to roll her eyes at him.

"Kate, why-"

"I found something." It's half the truth, kind of. It's more she realised something, but that will give her away. Stop this game before it starts.

"Well then… You need to tell me because I don't follow," he hedges. Apparently he's happy to play.

She smiles wider at him now and moves toward him, stepping into the entrance to his loft, shoving the coat she shrugged off in the elevator at him and sliding her flats off her feet, flicking them away, under the table with the other shoes, his shoes.

She watches him raise his eyebrows, curious.

"Nothing's wrong," she announces softly.

"Huh?" The furrow in his brow is cute, she wants to smooth it over with her thumb, but she doesn't.

"There is nothing wrong." She flicks her eyes behind him, scanning his kitchen and living room, finding his mother and daughter watching them from the kitchen. She turns her attention back to him and finds he followed her gaze, turned to meet their eyes too.

She pokes his chin, stealing his focus back. "Absolutely no reason for me not to be here."

She watches him open and close his mouth.

"Be here?" he asks softly.

"Dinner," she explains. "You offered," she swallows, "so I've come, a little late," she admits, "but I'm here."

He shifts, notices him curl his shoulders a little, tense and guarded. "I invited you for dinner a week ago. You were too busy, you-"

"I was stalling," she admits, finds his wrist with her fingers, meeting his eyes to apologise.

"So now you're inviting yourself?" He's trying for mad, coming off a little gruff. But he's not really, not in reality. He's just shocked, caught off guard. He didn't expect this.

Not now.

She has barely spoken to him, not really, sure she's spent every day with him. But since he offered she come after their case, a week ago, she'd withdrawn, taken a step back.

"Yes." She watches him swallow.

"You could have-"

She nods, agreeing. He'd left an hour before her, not bothering to insist he'd stay for the paperwork, not bothering to insist she go home herself, let alone come with him.

"But I'm here."

"You're here." He nods, a compromise.

"Can I stay?" she asks quietly, realising he hasn't let her past him yet.

He steps closer. "Yes," he whispers. "But next time," she swallows (of course there will be a next time), "I want you to bring the wine – last time I had to restock the rack." He raises a brow, teasing.

She smirks. This she can do. "Next time I'll bring wine."


	16. Silence

**Silence  
><strong>_The complete absence of sound._

.

It settles over them, distinct and audible.

Silence.

The movement of her neighbour, shifting what can only be a dining room chair, sliding it across the floor above their heads.

He watches as she raises her eyes to the roof, like she's commanding the disruption to cease.

It does.

Her neighbour apparently now comfortable.

He's not.

She's lowered her eyes to her hands again, twisting her fingers around, fidgeting, desperate.

He tugs her against his side, she was there _before _and if she's going to speak, break this silence, he needs to show her it's okay. It is okay.

She's just slackened against him, turned her attentions to the lint on her pants.

When she startles again, the hum of her fridge, its soft click as it does it's thing, filling or emptying, regulating or just refrigerating. He doesn't know exactly, but she slumps back against him the second he decides it doesn't matter what the appliance is doing.

Apparently she agrees, fiddling with the seam of her jeans, finding some piece of cotton joining the two halves, the front and the back completely out of place and needing the attention of her fingernail to smooth it back into place.

He finally stops her movements, closing his hand over hers, urging her to lie it flat against her leg with a brush of his thumb over her knuckle.

She obeys and gives a shuddered breath, spreading her fingers and letting his sink into the gaps formed, squeezing tightly once he's secured his hand around hers.

Okay, enough.

He hauls her up more, slumping her deeper into his side.

She does stiffen but when he moves his fingers over her arm, gliding over the shoulder not pressed into his armpit, she shifts closer and rests her head on his shoulder and fiddles with his knuckles, kneading the skin over the bone.

She's quiet, but she's content.

He presses his mouth to her cheek, daring, and feels her startle beneath his mouth. He withdraws, ready for her to pull back again, recoil so fiercely she'll get whiplash.

But she doesn't.

She just huffs out a breath and rolls her head against his shoulder, burying her face in his neck.

He can feel the smile against his skin.

No recoil.

No whiplash.

Just an open mouthed kiss against his skin, quick and effective, daring and tender.

She is certainly content.

And so is he.


End file.
